Imagine How Frustrated She'll Be When We can't Understand Her as a Teenager

Everyone has pretty much recovered from head colds, although everyone has runny noses. Margaret had such stuffy ears, she has had trouble hearing out of them. Sometimes I think it's somewhat selective hearing, but that's just almost-13-ism.

The downstairs bathroom is coming along well, or as well as can be expected when the general contractor has daddy duty most mornings. And although we're looking forward to some of the time that will be afforded to us when Brigid is at Sibley after March 24, I think Daddy is going to be missing his little girl in the mornings because they have some pretty hard-and-fast routines that they enjoy. I have some pictures of Brigid "helping" Daddy with the bathroom project I'll post when I get to work because the cord is on my computer at work.

Brigid, who turned 22 months on Saturday, has truly begun speaking in sentences. Some are pretty hard to pick up on. For instance yesterday, she was firing off some communication at me and I just stood and stared, helplessly, at her as I tried to figure out what she was saying. She truly was saying something, not just trying to say something. And she was getting frustrated at my denseness. But then, she'll come out with something like, "Just a minute!" which she said to me the other night. After all, she hears it from me all the time. Of course that's going to be one of the more clear sentences she utters.

She seems to enjoy having names for things, and words assigned to feelings. She also appreciates a good question, asking it over and over as in the case when we went to dinner the other night and couldn't figure out where the waiter went. "Where did that guy go?" I asked. She held up her hands. "Der da di doh?"(Translation: Where did the guy go? It is not a reference to Homer Simpson) That has become a standard question -- where did XXX go? (fill in the blank.) She can often answer herself, too, by saying, "Ear it is" or "Es it is."

Last night, she called out about midnight, asking me, "Momee! Momee! What are you doing?" I made the mistake of going in to tell her what I was doing, which meant we ended up with a visitor between us in bed last night. She did not want to go back without a fight, and I was too tired to give her one. But when I brought her into our room, she says, "Bed" and "Bot," which means her "spot." Yup, I said, it's your spot. She snuggled down under my left arm and fell asleep. That;'s her spot, too, and I wouldn't have it any other way. At least until my arm falls asleep.